


Three Wishes

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Be Careful What You Wish For, Butt Plugs, Confessions, Explicit Sexual Content, Fairy Godparents, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Crack, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Implied Switching, Light Angst, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Oral Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, Sex Toys, Thirsty Draco Malfoy, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Draco meets his fairy godmother and is granted three wishes. Unfortunately, they all keep coming back to the same thing.[excerpt]:Pop!"Oh, wow," Vince says, and is that sarcasm Draco hears? "I never saw that coming.""What?" Draco opens his eyes. He's prepared for the theatrics of the puffs of smoke—Vince, despite the sudden career change, was never blessed with an overactive imagination—but what he was not prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter, bare-chested and dressed in arseless chaps, his hands bound and mouth wrapped around a ball gag while lying face down on Draco's sofa.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 97
Kudos: 589
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	Three Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[173](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#).
> 
> There were so many fabulous prompts for ~~Fan!~~ Sex!Fair, but I fell in love with the idea of writing something that was fun, hopefully sexy, and just a bit crack-y! Thanks so much to my fabulous beta gracerene: whether it's silly or serious, you always make my work better. And much gratitude to @phoenixacid and @sassy-cissa for bringing back this fest with such a fun twist. I'm thrilled to be a part of it this year! <3

* * *

According to Muggles, fairy godmothers are matronly beings who top off their sentences with _'of course'_ and _'dearie'._ Jinns, on the other hand, are a mixed lot, granting their gifts with a touch of mischief and malice. And as for wishing wells? They barely warrant a mention, being the wish-fulfillment world's equivalent of a mechanical fortune teller.

Draco's never given much thought to wish-granting outside the two-part lecture in History of Magic (and given the fact that it was Binns who was lecturing, Draco didn't even think about it much then). He had little use for fairy godparents since his family's name and fortune already provided him with everything he might want. As he grew older, however, one shattered dream led to another, and now, at twenty-three, he knows better than to hope for a wish-granter to suddenly appear in his life. He doesn't have the prerequisites to be a recipient of magical gift-giving: he's neither an orphan nor a stepchild; he's never been particularly charitable or self-sacrificing; and he can't command flocks of birds to his side with his off-key warbling. 

Despite his privilege, Draco's certainly not living the glorious life he dreamt of as a child. He works in the Wizengamot's Administration Services as a glorified lackey, the law degree he obtained last year worthless after his application for pupillage was rejected for the second time. To add insult to injury, his job places him in daily contact with the dredges of the DMLE.

To wit: the Aurors. They are _the worst—_ cocksure and brash, determined and cocksure, cocksure and revered, and led by none other than Harry (cocksure) Potter.

And because karma apparently has it out for Draco, Potter is the one who Draco has to deal with the most. It's Potter who catches the most suspects, Potter who closes the most cases, and Potter who creates the most collateral damage. It's also Potter who leans against Draco's desk and messes up Draco's files, Potter who speaks warmly to just about everyone but freezes in Draco's presence, and Potter who dresses improperly, dating fit and mysterious Unspeakables named Geoffrey while flashing his tight trousers and cuffed shirt sleeves and leather holster and—

Well. All that aside.

If it weren't for Potter, Draco would probably be accepting of, if not completely content with, his life. He comes home from work, makes his daily Floo call to Pansy or Blaise (or, if he's terribly desperate, Millicent or Theo) and eats takeaway in the comfort of his simple but tastefully decorated flat. There's a familiarity to his routine, but today Potter had been particularly bothersome, making Draco rewrite the Glenwood court documents three times. It's the reason why Draco decides to up his cheat day by two and indulge in a fried chicken sandwich, which is also why he's not paying attention to the unlocked door to his flat when he comes home.

In retrospect, everything that happens from here on out is pretty much Potter's fault.

**~*~**

"Bloody, bloody hell!" Draco clutches at his heart and nearly lets go of his dinner when he spies someone sitting on his sofa.

If Draco had to bargain for his life, and if that bargain required guessing the name of the visitor who just dropped in unannounced, Draco would be a bloody goner because there's no way he could have possibly thought it would be _Vincent. Fucking. Crabbe._

Sporting _fairy wings,_ no less.

"Ooh, is that a chicken sandwich from Four Legs?" Vince asks, making grabby hands at Draco's paper bag.

"Don't even think about it. I had a rubbish day," Draco snarls as he snatches up the bag and holds it close. "I earned this meal and all the greasy calories that comes along with it."

Vince gets up from where he's been sitting on Draco's sofa. He's wearing a diaphanous shirt and pantaloons that (thankfully) include an extra bit of material to protect his modesty. His skin has a healthy glow, without the hint of a burn or scar anywhere.

"A rubbish day?" he says, giving Draco a wry look. "I bet I can beat you on that count."

Draco stares at the fairy dust that clings to the pillows and rug like glitter. 

"I'm dreaming, right?" Draco pinches his arm, wincing as pain blooms between his fingers. So it's not a dream, then. Perhaps it's the residue of some illegal potion he's mistakenly ingested, because there's no logical explanation for Vince to be alive and dressed like someone out of a Muggle moving picture. He squints and cocks his head to the side. "Or maybe you're a hallucination."

"Not a hallucination. A fairy godperson," Vince corrects. "And I happen to be yours."

 _Circe's tits._ This potion is ridiculously strong. "Yay, me," Draco says, playing along. "And being my fairy godperson, I assume you're here to grant me a wish." He fights the slightly hysterical laughter bubbling at his lips. "Fine. I wish to eat my dinner in peace."

"I'm not a fucking genie, Draco," Vince says, looking awfully put out. "I mean, I grant wishes, but it's more of the _'what your heart truly desires'_ variety." He frowns. "Merlin, even after all these years, you're still a right tosser."

Guilt makes Draco backtrack. "All right, I believe you." Draco tries to wave a careless hand but the effect is shattered by its faint trembling. "How, after everything, did you become"—he gestures up and down the length of Vince's body—"this?"

Vince sighs. Draco's guilt intensifies tenfold when he sees Vince's fairy wings droop.

"It was my penance. For the Fiendfyre. I had a choice: to roam the halls of Hogwarts with the likes of the Bloody Baron and the Fat Friar, or to show contrition, receive forgiveness, and pay it forward." He lets out a shiver, and Draco shivers alongside him. "There weren't a lot of people willing to take me under their wings"—Vince glares as Draco snorts—"but the Fairy Council saw something in me and took a chance. And after five years of training, well, here I am." Vincent smiles and his wings perk up a bit, their gossamer blades shimmering.

"So how long have you been granting wishes?" Draco asks. He figures if this entire exchange is the result of a potion it doesn't hurt to play along, and if this is somehow _real_ he doesn't want to jeopardise anything by annoying Vince.

Vince's face colours pink. "Um. Well. The thing is you're my first." His eyes drop to the floor but then he suddenly looks up, his face split into a wide grin. "But it also means you're the one who I wanted to help the most!"

"Because we were childhood friends?" Draco asks, touched. He doesn't quite tear up, but it's close.

Vince rolls his eyes. "You were an arse to me and Greg, Draco, and you know it. But you've been through a lot in the past few years and you're also trying your best. And I figured if I had another chance, you should get one, too."

"I'm sorry," Draco mumbles.

Vince sidles up to Draco and nudges him on the shoulder. "And despite everything, you and Greg were my best friends," he adds with a small smile. He straightens and draws his wand. It looks nothing like the one he carried at Hogwarts; this one has a thick, translucent handle and is capped off by a glittery, pink star that makes tinkling noises when Vince swishes it about. "And because of that, I'm going to make you a very happy man. Even though I'm not a genie, I've been given permission by the council to fulfill your truest desire using three wishes. So if you think strongly—and truly—it'll be worth your while."

He taps his foot, waiting.

"Uh," Draco says. His mind is a jumble, considering the cheery arpeggios that Vince's wand is emitting and the glittering swirl of Vince's trousers around his tapping feet. Draco extricates his takeaway from his clammy hands, places it on the table, and closes his eyes.

_Pop!_

"Oh, wow," Vince says, and is that sarcasm Draco hears? "I never saw that coming."

"What?" Draco opens his eyes. He's prepared for the theatrics of the puffs of smoke—Vince, despite the sudden career change, was never blessed with an overactive imagination—but what he was not prepared for was the sight of Harry Potter, bare-chested and dressed in arseless chaps, his hands bound and mouth wrapped around a ball gag while lying face down on Draco's sofa.

And _Merlin,_ what a sight it is. Before tonight, Draco could only imagine what lay under Harry's robes, but now he can see the breadth of Harry's shoulders, the way the muscles in his back ripple as he twists, how all that strength tapers down into a trim and narrow waist. The waistband of Harry's chaps hang just below his hips, and there's a dimple in Harry's arse cheek that's just begging to be bitten and licked.

Draco can feel the heat rising from the end of his toes to the tip of his head. He's sure he's turning every possible shade between pink and crimson as Vince coughs and Harry lifts his head and glares.

"Mmmmmffff!" Harry says. He tries to wriggle out of his bonds, the movement causing the muscles in his thighs and arse—oh, his glorious arse—to shift.

"This is not—Vince, I did _not_ wish for this," Draco exclaims, utterly mortified.

Vince looks up from where he was inspecting his nails. "Trust me. I didn't come up with that for my own jollies," he says, jerking his head towards Harry. 

"Put him back," Draco hisses. "Back where he came from, without all the…" He swallows loudly as Harry's muffled shouts grow louder. "I mean, remove the _please-spank-me-Daddy_ bondage gear and put him back in his regular clothes. Or whatever he was wearing." _Unless that is what Harry was wearing, in which case…_

Draco shakes his head. "Maybe he'll think it was a dream," he pleads.

"Rigghht," Vince says, drawing out the word into two syllables. "Sleeping and dreaming. At half-past seven."

Draco casts a nervous look at Harry. The look he receives in return is—well, baleful, to put it mildly—and the way Harry's mouth is stretched and swollen over the ball gag as he brows draw down ominously is causing Draco's cock to have ideas that his brain knows is _Just. Not. Good._

"Just do it," Draco pleads. "You must know this is what I truly desire."

The expression on Vince's face is underwhelming. "You're wasting two perfectly good wishes. Do you know how much fairy dust each one requires?" He heaves a great sigh, looks at Draco and then Harry, and shrugs. "I'm just the messenger," he concludes as he waves his wand. He disappears with Harry at his side while being serenaded in the key of E-major.

Well. That's that.

"It's for the best," Draco says. He looks forlornly at the divot that's left in the sofa cushion. It's the same cushion that cradled Harry's lower body, and Draco tries not to think about what part of Harry's anatomy could have caused it.

"It's for the best," he repeats. Perhaps if he says it enough times it'll quiet the inconvenient erection that vehemently disagrees.

**~*~**

"You look like shit, Malfoy. I hope last night was worth it."

Draco's head snaps up. Adrian couldn't possibly know. He swallows, his voice only wavering a bit when he answers.

"Fuck off, Pucey. Not all of us feel the need to get bladdered every night."

"I don't, either. At least, not on the nights I pull. Have to make sure I actually have something to pull with," Adrian says as he makes a lewd gesture with his fist.

Draco forces a stiff smile. Adrian has grown into his teeth and he’s pleasing enough to look at; he doesn't seem to have any difficulty catching the eyes of potential partners on the rare occasions when Draco joins him and the rest of the department for happy hour, but his rude comments and less-than-stellar intellect bring the needle on his attractiveness metre pretty much down to zero.

"Wow. With your charms, it's amazing the rest of us have a chance," Draco remarks drily.

Adrian nudges Draco's shoulder. "If all else fails, you could tie them up and drag them away."

Of course, that's the exact moment when Weasley and Potter step foot into Draco's office. Weasley's staring at Adrian with the kind of distaste reserved for entrails that get stuck to the bottom of one's shoe.

"Welcome to the Wizengamot's Administration Services, esteemed Aurors. How may we help you?" Draco intones. He aims for cool and professional with a hint of snark, and fails miserably at all three. Right now, his hands are trembling and he feels like his heart is beating out of his chest.

Potter hands Draco a stack of files. They land on Draco's desk with an ominous thump.

"These are the last of the documents for _Payne versus The Blushing Horklump."_

Draco looks up at Harry from behind his desk. Harry's expression is curiously blank. He certainly doesn't look like he's about to unleash a series of hexes on Draco.

Adrian lets out a low whistle. He reaches out for the documents as Draco slaps his hand away. "All this because Payne bought an aphrodisiac that turned his cock into a Flobberworm instead of a Basilisk?"

Draco fights the urge to thwack his head against the table. He's going to be here all night.

"Payne was a regular. Apparently, the, erm, questionable results he developed with the _Elixir of Priapos_ was the last straw. He decided to sue for everything he ever bought from the sex shop,” Harry says.

Draco's jaw drops. There has to be at least two hundred separate documents in those files.

"Is this seriously how the Ministry spends the people's hard-earned Galleons? Because I fail to see how this requires the involvement of highly trained law-enforcement officials such as yourself." Draco casts a sideways glance at Harry's wand, which he's been spinning lazily between his fingers. "Although I suppose some boys never grow out of their fondness to play with their wands."

Harry's face reddens; his hand stutters as the wand wobbles mid-flip. He catches it and slides it into his holster neatly. "The _Fire You Up_ personal lubricant was purported to be made of Ashwinder eggs but contained Doxy eggs instead."

"The same ingredient that's used in Girding Potions?" Draco asks.

"I don't see what the big deal is. Sounds like they'd come out with the same result," Adrian says with a shrug.

Ron lets out a loud snort. "The problem is that Doxies are vindictive, nasty little critters who don't take kindly to having a nest of their eggs dug up from under their Queen. We nearly had another creature war on our hands." He gives Draco a look and points at the files. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Better start cataloguing everything there and summarising it in one document, Malfoy. The prosecutor needs it by Friday." Ron's blue eyes narrow. "For the health of the English countryside. _Doxies,"_ he hisses.

"Tough luck there, Draco," Adrian says, not sounding sympathetic in the least. "I guess that means you won't be making Thursday night happy hour with the rest of us." He leans over towards Draco and nudges him, mock-whispering in his ear. "All the more action for me."

Draco's shoulder aches, but he refuses to give Adrian the satisfaction of rubbing the spot. He sighs and picks up the folder. It's heavy; he'll be lucky if he gets home by midnight.

"The sooner you lot all leave, the sooner I can start," Draco grouses, waving them off.

"Come on," Ron says, tugging on Harry's arm. "We need to finish our report. If I'm not home in time to put Rose to sleep, I'll end up on the sofa." Harry shakes his head, his eyes losing a bit of their glazed look from staring at Draco, then stumbles out after Ron. Draco tries not to glance at Harry's arse, or to think about what it looked like encased in leather.

"Have fun," Adrian tells Draco with a smirk. He flips the front cover of the file open with the tip of his finger then tilts his head. "Bloody fuck. What does one do with something like that?" he asks, his voice filled with awe and disgust.

Draco slams the file shut. "Don't you have some poor bird to bowl over with your sweet words?"

Adrian shakes his head as if clearing it. His dazed expression slides back into a smirk. "Right. Well. Have fun tonight, Draco. Let me know if you find anything good."

**~*~**

Draco's hardly prudish, but even he was a bit taken aback by some of the offerings at The Blushing Horklump (page eight, with photographs and detailed descriptions of a dildo with a sizable sheath intended to replicate an Erumpent's prick comes to mind). After four hours of documenting a variety of different pleasure aides, however, Draco's grown immune to the shock and novelty of it all. He's catalogued more lubricants and contraceptive potions and vibrators and bondage gear and sensory aids and whips than he cares to remember, and he's now recording everything at a fast clip. Which is why it's such a surprise when he gets stymied on page one hundred and twenty-six.

Draco reaches for the photograph, then remembers that his fingers have grease from the food truck sandwich he's eating for dinner. He casts a quick _Scourgify,_ making sure that there aren't any crumbs or stains on the files, bins the remainder of the sandwich and the wrappings, then picks up the photograph and reads the accompanying report that's printed in a thick, black scrawl:

_Item 3471c. Charmable silicone-over-glass butt plug. Versatile length and width and flared base for ease of play and removal. Water-based lubrication feature that replicates the production of slick. Available in ten different colours. Item 3471d includes a wolf's tail and increased lubrication simulating werewolves in heat._

"Merlin," Draco says under his breath. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair; the paragraph beneath the summary mentions that while the Engorgement and Lubrication Charms seem to work adequately, 3471d also showed traces of oils obtained from the scent glands of wolves, without receiving the proper clearance from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He's trying to envision what 3471d would look like in use—and he's imagining a generic arse, by the way, though if it happens to be nicely round yet muscular and of a delicious, golden hue, there's no reason to think it belongs to Potter—when Vince Apparates into Draco's office, accompanied by a Hallelujah chorus and a cloud of fairy dust.

Draco slams the cover of the file closed. "Vince," he chokes out, his face heating.

"I have great news, Draco!" Vince exclaims with a smile. He floats closer to Draco's desk, leaving a shower of pink glitter in his wake. Draco draws his wand and casts a Cleaning Charm; the last thing he needs is to explain why the papers have unmentionable stains and sparkling powder all over them. "So I felt a bit poorly with everything that happened yesterday. It was the first time I had to do the wish-granting thing outside of a classroom, and… well, the Fairy Council said I hadn't prepped you sufficiently." His cheery countenance crumples a bit. "I thought I knew you well enough that I didn't have to? I mean, sometimes wishes aren't so literal. They're supposed to be things that help fulfill your true desire. Like Cinderella." Vince shakes his head sadly. "Anyway, they've erased last night's wishes from the ledger so we can start with a clean slate."

He takes another step closer. Draco's not sure why the movement, as unassuming and unthreatening as it is, puts a sudden fear in him but he finds himself pushing back in his seat. 

Vince taps his wand against the flat of his palm. Another shower of sprinkles rains over the carpet, and Draco suppresses the urge to cast a _Protego_ over his entire work area.

"So here's the spiel," Vince says, oblivious to Draco's turmoil. "I'm going to make your dreams come true, and that includes three wishes. Wish-granting is based on what I know of you as my client; I focus on the thread of magic that links your head to your heart. Now your wish might not manifest immediately, or even as something tangible, so if either are the case, it's not because I cast incorrectly," he concludes, lifting his eyes in challenge.

Draco splays out his hands. "I never thought otherwise."

"All right, then. Close your eyes and keep your mind clear of everything except the secrets of your heart." Vince closes his eyes as if to demonstrate but his right hand is already rising, his wand circling and making trilling noises in the air.

"Wait!" Draco cries out. He can't clear his mind if he's not comfortable, and right now he's hunched forward in his chair, his hand reaching out to push away the case files. Clean desk, clean mind and all that. But before he's had a chance to get a firm grip on the papers, he hears another—

_Pop._

"Fuck me." Vince groans as the smoke begins to clear. "Are you serious?"

"What the bloody fuck?" Harry wheezes. Gone are the gag and leather gear from yesterday. He's still bare-chested and his Y-fronts are tugged down to mid-thigh, the elastic waistband snug under his balls. Harry doesn't seem to have his hands bound, either, so Draco's surprised there aren't more than a few hexes being thrown his way, but it might be because Harry's face is bright red and he's squirming about uncomfortably.

"Circe's tits." Draco swallows, trying to tamp down the highly inappropriate erection that's developing under his robes when he sees the butt plug attached to a fluffy black tail protruding from Potter's arse.

"Uh… definitely not tits," Vince mutters.

Harry, if possible, turns an even deeper shade of red. It spreads beautifully down his neck and along his collarbone.

"What's the meaning of this, Malfoy?" he croaks.

"I… I have no idea! I would never—" Draco watches as Harry's eyes dart to the photo of 3471d that he's holding. Draco throws it to the ground, wishing he could follow. "I swear!"

The shock that seems to have frozen Harry appears to be wearing off, for Harry's hands are clenching, power palpably vibrating from his very core. Draco has always thought that Harry could perform accidental magic, and he has no desire to put his theory to the test.

 _Survival_. Survival is a good wish.

"Vince," Draco manages past the humiliation that's lodged in his throat. "For my second wish, I wish—"

Vince's mouth is set in a grim line. "I'm on it. But no more freebies; this one counts." He raises his wand; Harry's mouth opens as if to protest (or, more likely, to yell at Draco) but Draco will never know because in the next second both Harry and Vince disappear in a cloud of smoke.

**~*~**

After Harry and Vince leave, Draco works feverishly through the night, ignoring the ache in his back, the cramps in his hand, and the ink stains that mar his fingers in an effort to clock out early. He hands the file—all two hundred and sixty-nine pages of it—to Dawlish's secretary (a woman who reminds Draco of his grand-aunt Walburga Black) by noon the next day. When that's done he runs to the nearest Floo, tearing off his robes as he stumbles into his home, then washes off the stink and grime of the day in the shower. When he's finished, he secrets himself away in his bedroom and tucks himself under the covers, only emerging for food or to use the loo.

He dozes on and off, his rest fitful as he waits for a team of Aurors to batter down his door with charges of kidnapping or coercion. It's a fear that thankfully never comes to fruition. By the time it's half-past nine, Draco finally relaxes enough to make an attempt at being productive. Of course, that's when Vince chooses to drop in for what's become his nightly visit.

Vince lifts his unibrow. "Really, Draco? Home again? You know the saying: All work and no play—"

Draco sits back on his bed and hides his face in his hands. "Go away."

"Really?" Vince sounds crestfallen. When Draco removes his hands from his face he sees that Vince looks as dispirited as he sounds. His expression causes Draco's heart to drop; he can't remember Vince ever being as happy as he was when faced with the prospect of granting wishes.

Draco pastes on a grin even though it's strained at the edges. "No."

"Hah! I knew it!" Vince crosses his arms over his chest. "Okay; I need you to concentrate and really mean it. There's no report to distract you. No, uh, physical things that need tending to." Vince's gaze drops down to Draco's pyjama pants.

Thankfully, Draco's cock is behaving. He takes a deep breath. He can do this. He closes his eyes and thinks of happiness and home.

_Pop!_

"Salazar and Merlin, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Vince exclaims.

Draco slowly opens one eye and then the other. He takes in a pair of jeans encasing strong legs with beautiful feet peeking out from under their hem. As his eyes continue their upward journey he sees a heather-blue t-shirt that's lovingly worn, its material stretched over a broad chest and biceps. Draco feels his breath hitch but he soldiers onward, catching the view of a strong jaw that's outlined in stubble, a strong nose, tousled black hair and green eyes that are sharp and knowing.

For some reason, this version of Harry, simple and natural, unnerves Draco more than any other.

"Vince," Draco hisses, trying to communicate with his former Slytherin classmate through his eyebrows. Harry bites his lower lip, his own brows drawing downward as he watches.

Vince heaves a great sigh, looking wholly defeated. "No can do, Draco. That's it. Three wishes. _Finito. Fini. Terminado._ Besides, even if I gave you another one, I'm pretty sure we both know what it'll be." He looks at Harry, then gives Draco a rueful grin. "You know, if I had known you were so predictable I might not have followed you so blindly when we were children." He glances at Harry again, then Disapparates in a shower of pink and purple fairy dust.

It's a more grandiose display than Vince typically shows and Draco coughs, trying to clear the tickle from his throat. There's glitter hanging off the tips of the fringe of his hair, and he's pretty sure there's some stuck onto the ends of his lashes. He wipes a hand across his forehead, trying to prolong the inevitable censure and humiliation.

Fingers trace the curve of Draco's cheek. The pressure is rough, yet gentle. When Draco looks up, Harry's staring at him with a contemplative expression.

"You…" Harry lets his hand fall to his side. "You had a bit of glitter there," he explains.

An awkward silence falls over them. Draco's mind races, trying to think of a plausible excuse, but there aren't any that are more believable than the truth. He sighs and stands. It wasn't like Harry fancied him before all this, anyway.

"I'm sorry," Draco says. Harry's brow quirks but he doesn't say anything, so Draco pushes on. "I know what I'm about to tell you sounds ridiculous, but just… hear me out. I had a surprise visit from my fairy godfather two nights ago. Vince." Draco swallows as he watches Harry's brows climb higher. "He told me he could grant me three wishes."

A muscle ticks in Harry's jaw but he doesn't appear to be making any quick moves for his wand, at least not yet. "So I was your first wish?"

Draco feels his face flush. "Actually, today's was the third. Follow along, Potter."

Harry taps his feet. The movement draws Draco's attention; the tops of Harry's feet are almost as tan as the rest of him, and they're well-shaped and strong. It's not fair that Harry's attractive from the tip of his unruly hair down to his toes.

"So your other wishes came true? What else did you wish for?" Harry asks.

Draco stiffens his shoulders as he meets Harry's gaze. "You. And you. Apparently, Vince is a shit caster," Draco adds, because first, there's only so much humiliation he can take, and second, for Harry to ask such a personal question is just plain _rude._

"Ahh. The last two nights make a lot more sense now." Something flickers in his expression. "The wolf's tail was a nice touch, by the way."

Sweet Merlin. Draco wonders how much notice is required before quitting his job. And whether he can find work in another country, preferably one that's far, far away. "You remember."

"Aurors are given small amounts of a Forgetfulness Potion to build our immunity to all but the strongest amnesia spells and draughts. And, as you mentioned, casting might not be Vince's strongest suit."

"I didn't mean to wish for you," Draco says. "I'm really sorry."

For a moment, Harry looks almost disappointed. His face smooths into something carefully blank. "You didn't?"

"Not consciously!" Draco tilts his head, considering. "I mean, would you be terribly angry if I did?"

The tips of Harry's ears turn pink. "Well, it would save me the trouble of screwing up the courage to ask you out."

"You… you want to ask me out?" Draco's jaw drops. "But you hate me! You're always giving me the worst work! Seriously, cataloguing two hundred and sixty-nine sex aids?"

"It was the only way I could see you," Harry admits sheepishly.

Which… Well. That changes things. Quite a bit.

Draco stands. "Potter," he drawls, "wishes and fairy godpersons aside. Do you wish to leave right now?"

Harry's so close that Draco can see the way Harry's eyes darken. "No," Harry says roughly, his Adam's apple travelling the line of his throat as he swallows.

"And do you want to be here with me?" Draco asks. He reaches out tentatively, his fingers twisting in the belt loops of Harry's jeans.

"You have no idea the things I've imagined doing to you in the last forty-eight hours," Harry rasps.

"Oh god," Draco says, letting out a whimper. Harry's hand wraps around his waist as he reels Draco in, the hard line of his cock grinding against Draco's thigh. "Sweet Merlin." Draco winds his hands up along Harry's back, his knees nearly buckling as Harry slants his mouth over Draco's.

There's a buzzing in Draco's head. Everything goes fuzzy except for the sweep of Harry's mouth as he gently teases Daco's lips apart then pries them open with his tongue. It's a kiss that's gentle yet teasing, patient yet possessive, and Draco feels himself crowding against Harry's chest as he lets out a moan.

"Harry," Draco gasps. Harry pulls away; the separation allows Draco to see the red in Harry's cheeks, how Harry's lips are bee-stung and wet. Draco's hips stutter as he imagines how they would look wrapped around his cock. "I've thought about this… fuck, you have no idea how much."

The thin rims of green surrounding Harry's pupils disappear as Harry kisses Draco once more. He explores Draco's mouth as if he can't get enough, the taste of him salty and hot and sweet against Draco's tongue. A deep rumble vibrates from Harry's chest as he swallows Draco's groans; he runs his hands down along Draco's sides towards the hem of Draco's shirt, his calloused palms wriggling underneath the material to lay flat against Draco's heated skin.

Draco's moan turns desperate and filthy as Harry works his way up. He lets out a hiss as his nipples harden between Harry's fingers, and when Harry steps back to tug Draco's pyjama top over his head, Draco's not surprised to discover that the nubs are pebbled and erect. His cheeks heat from the obvious display of his neediness and he's hit with an overwhelming desire to cover himself up.

"Don't." Harry wraps a hand around Draco's forearm. "Let me see you."

Draco isn't blind to his looks. Despite his blackened past, he still manages to elicit glances from men and women alike. But while high cheekbones, pale hair, and a towering height may be striking, they're hardly unique, and it's been far too long since anyone's wanted him for more than a shag. 

He's unprepared for the intensity of Harry's expression. Harry's eyes pierce through Draco, stripping him of his defenses with each passing second until there's nothing left to see except someone who feels wholly inadequate.

Draco squirms, then drops his gaze.

Fingers cup Draco's chin, tipping his head. 

"If this is about Vince," Harry says softly, "I'm not here against my will. Do you think I couldn't escape those restraints if I'd wanted to?" He casts a silent _Diffindo_ that severs the ties of Draco's pyjama bottoms, causing the loosened material to settle around Draco's hips.

Draco looks up from beneath his lashes and smirks. "You're going to have to do better than that."

Harry's eyes dip down to where the pyjama's descent is stymied by Draco's impressive erection. "I see," he says, his voice both husky and amused. He slides down onto his knees until he's eye-level with Draco's crotch, then hooks his thumbs along the waistband of the pyjama bottoms. He lowers the material, his gaze intensely reverent as his hands slide along Draco's buttocks. "Your arse should be illegal," he says, squeezing the flesh in his palms.

Draco's breath catches as Harry dips a finger in between Draco's cheeks. "You're one to talk. The only reason you used to beat me to the Snitch was because you were a terrible distraction when you flew."

Harry lets out a pleased hum. Draco lets out a whine as Harry's thumb edges closer to Draco's hole.

"Potter, there are better ways to—"

"Hmm?"

Draco never finishes his thought because Harry pulls both Draco's pyjamas and pants off in one fell swoop. The nerve endings in Draco's skin light up like a Filibuster Firework as Harry kisses the tender spots on Draco's thighs, the tip of Harry's nose nudging the curls that surround the base of Draco's cock. The puffs of breath tease Draco to the point of desperation until Harry finally takes the head of Draco's dick into the heat of his mouth. 

Draco's not sure what he expected—whether Harry would be tentative or loving, gentle or teasing, or shy and possibly awestruck (it's not exactly boasting if it's the truth; Draco has a very nice cock). But Harry sucks dick like he's in the back rooms at the club, enthusiastic and skilled and with the right amount of sloppy desperation.

The rough swipe of Harry's tongue along Draco's cockhead has Draco groaning. He reaches out and rests his hand on Harry's head; Harry's hair is surprisingly soft, the strands slipping through Draco's fingers. He wonders who else has had the pleasure of experiencing this, of seeing Harry on his knees.

"Aren't you dating one of the Unspeakables?" Draco says as he tightens his grip. He thrusts his hips forward, his cock seeking the suction of Harry's mouth.

Harry pulls back and makes a face. "Seriously?" he asks, his voice raspy. "You really want to talk about Geoffrey right now? And no, we broke up last month."

"Lack of chemistry?" Something loosens in Draco's chest and he shuffles forward and positions his cock close to Harry's lips. 

"Nice enough guy but no sparks. Plus, I might have been a bit preoccupied with someone who works for the Wizengamot's Administration Services."

Draco rubs the tip of his prick along Harry's mouth, wetting it with his precome. Harry looks up, his normally bright eyes nearly black. "Harry," Draco says. The tip of Harry's tongue darts out as if to taste and then he opens wide and takes Draco down. When Draco thrusts and holds, Harry makes a needy sound that almost unravels Draco completely.

"Is this all right?" Draco says, his breath hitching as he feels Harry's throat flutter around the tip.

Harry responds by squeezing Draco's arse and drawing him further down.

"S'good," Draco slurs, the tips of his fingers stroking the nape of Harry's neck. "So good for me." Harry makes a pleased sound and Draco brushes the back of Harry's head before settling his hands on Harry's shoulders. He begins to thrust, his strokes growing longer as Harry loosens his jaw so Draco can fuck into Harry's mouth like a well-used hole. 

The sight of Harry on his knees, taking everything Draco is giving him and doing so with a blissed-out expression, makes Draco lose the last thread of his control. "I'm going to come," he gasps out as his hips rabbit forward. He feels his muscles clench as a growing ache spreads from his pelvis to his groin, the uncontrollable rush of his orgasm ripping through him as he comes with a shout.

"Oh my god," Draco whimpers as everything finally calms to a dull roar. He doesn't think he's come that fast since he discovered another use for the Extension Charm back in Hogwarts. His legs nearly buckle as Harry stands, and he leans against Harry for support.

"I'm sorry. It's… it's been awhile," Draco says, palming Harry's erection with a wistful expression.

Harry kisses Draco softly against the corner of his mouth. "It's not going to take much to get me off."

Draco can't help the moan that escapes him as Harry half-turns and lowers his zipper. Harry's arse is a thing of beauty, and Draco mourns his inability to fuck him senseless in this very moment and have him fall apart in his hands.

"Next time," Harry says with a cheeky wink. Draco's face heats; he can't be responsible for what escapes his mouth when he's come-drunk. Harry shucks off his pants and shoes and Draco might have to rethink his wish to top because Harry's cock is thick and long and just as perfect as the rest of him. Its skin is velvety soft, and when Draco wraps his hand around the shaft its weight and girth are barely contained in the circle of his hand.

Harry casts a _Lubrico._ It's just the right amount of lube to wet his prick and their palms as his hand joins Draco.

"Practice makes perfect," Draco says with a smirk as he begins to stroke.

"You should see what else I've been practising," Harry answers, his mouth curling into a smile, eyes hooded.

It doesn't take much after that. They work Harry's cock together, the speed and pressure of their strokes increasing as Harry tips his head forward and rests his mouth against the curve of Draco's neck. Draco can feel Harry's lips moving against his skin as their movements quicken, his own cock stirring valiantly as Harry's breaths are punctuated by his guttural moans. 

"Draco…" 

It's the only warning Draco receives as Harry tilts his head back, his grip stuttering as he comes, coating their hands with his spunk. His expression is awestruck and blissed out, and it fills Draco with such pride that he was the one who could put that look on Harry's face. 

He darts forward, devouring Harry's mouth. "How was that?" Draco asks as he curses his insecurity.

Harry kisses Draco back. It's soft and long and surprisingly sweet.

"It's even better than I'd imagined."

**~*~**

Draco wakes up around three in the morning with his arm slung over Harry's warm and muscular body, Harry's breathing deep and even in sleep. It feels surprisingly _right,_ which is strange because Draco doesn't do sleepovers. He doesn't like people in his bed, doesn't want someone who can see him when he's at his most vulnerable, doesn't like to prolong the inevitable brush off when his partner second-guesses the choices of last night. It's even stranger that he can feel comfortable with _Harry,_ and the shock rouses him from his half-awake state because Draco can't believe Harry's still _here._

They had stumbled into the shower, taking their time to explore each other's bodies in a way they couldn't when caught in the grip of their urgency. Draco remembers how his body went pliant, how he rested his head on Harry's as he enjoyed the softness of Harry's touch, the ability of Harry's slippery fingers to stir Draco's emotions even when his body wasn't yet up to the task.

Harry's so beautiful, even in sleep. His hair is longer than it was at Hogwarts, and free of the products or the strap he uses to keep it tamed at work, it fans softly across his face. His lips are parted, and the stern lines he wears too often at the Ministry are replaced by a near-quirk at the corners, as if he were hiding a smile.

Draco leans forward as he tries to catalogue everything he can. His rousing cock rubs against the curve of Harry's arse as he shifts; he winces and tries to reposition himself in a less incriminating position when Harry reaches back with reflexes worthy of a future Head Auror.

The pressure of his hand remains steady on Draco's thigh, pulling him close. "Feels good," Harry says, his words still muzzy from sleep.

Draco rolls his hips as Harry presses against him. "Harry," he whines as the head of his cock slips between Harry's cheeks.

There's a whoosh of air as Harry sucks in his breath. He turns, and his expression is still sleepy but sharpened by his arousal.

"I'm not opposed to you fucking me. At all," Harry says, his voice deep and teasing. "In fact, that's kind of what I thought you'd be into. Given the bit with the arseless chaps and all."

Draco's cheeks flare. "As it turns out, I'm an equal opportunist," he manages with as much dignity as he can muster.

Harry's grin is positively feral. "Luckily enough, so am I." He turns back onto his side and guides Draco's hand towards his arsehole. It's clean from the shower, but when Draco traces the ring of muscle and presses, he lets out a shocked noise because it feels surprisingly loose. "You had me wearing a plug and a tail, remember?" Harry says in response.

The image causes Draco's cock to go from pleasantly aroused to achingly hard in the span of a second. "Turn over," he says, sleep be damned. He grabs the bottle of lube from his nightstand and spreads Harry's cheeks. "Look at you," he says as the lube slides down Harry's cleft and clings to his hole. He rubs a finger around the rim, tracing the circle of pink flesh until it glistens.

Harry lets out as hiss as Draco's finger catches against the ring then pushes forward, the tip gliding in without much resistance.

Draco releases the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Item 3471d may have had a simulated werewolf knot at the base, but it's been more than twenty-four hours. "This isn't just from the plug, is it?" he asks, his voice cracking.

Harry grunts, wriggling his hips as Draco slips a second finger in beside the first. "I may have helped it along this morning."

"Is that your daily routine?" Draco pumps his fingers in and out, then twists his wrist to add a third. "Shower, brush your teeth, and finger yourself in the morning?" His voice drops and Harry shudders. "Are you that greedy for it, Harry?"

Harry's body trembles as he bears down on Draco's fingers. "After the last two wishes, I was hopeful. I thought… _ngggh, fuck…_ I thought you might have done the same for your third." He growls in frustration as Draco withdraws his fingers. "That's enough. Fuck me already." Before Draco can protest—Draco's hardly average, thank you very much—Harry gets onto his hands and knees.

"Are you sure?" Despite his reservation, Draco is already scrambling up to his knees, his cock jutting out like a battering ram as he squeezes then pries apart Harry's arse cheeks. "Merlin," he says, his jaw dropping at the delectable sight. He grabs his prick with one hand and rubs the head of it along the cleft, groaning at its slippery heat.

Harry lowers himself onto his elbows, his back bowed. "I've been waiting three days for this," he says, hips swaying temptingly. "Get on with it already."

"Well. Since you put it so nicely." Draco positions the swollen tip of his cock against Harry's hole. It presses up against the ring of muscle, meeting with slight resistance before pushing through.

"Merlin's beard," Draco whines as Harry pushes back, causing Draco's dick to slide in even further. "Circe's tits." The friction and glide nearly make Draco's eyes roll as he rolls his hips and thrusts deeper and harder.

Harry is making these delicious sounds, whimpers and groans that are choked into the pillow as the globes of his arse shake with each thrust. His muscles clench beautifully as they continue to fuck, beads of sweat gathering in the dip of his spine, balls swinging as Draco grips the sides of his hips and bottoms out.

Draco's so close; he can feel the urgency as white heat wraps along his back and into his groin. 

"Come on, Harry," Draco begs. Harry grips his cock, his hand moving furiously to match Draco's thrusts. "Come for me."

It only takes several strokes before Harry comes with a bellowing roar, wringing an orgasm from Draco that he feels from his head to his toes.

"Draco," Harry rasps, sounding absolutely wrecked.

Draco collapses on top of Harry, pushing them both onto the bed. He breathes in the scent of lemon soap, faint under the salt of sweat and musk. "Fuck," Draco groans, layering kisses along Harry's shoulder. His cock slips out, softening as it lays wet against Harry's thigh. "That was brilliant."

"Mmmm." There's a flare of magic as Harry casts a _Scourgify_ that leaves Draco's skin tingling in its wake. "Well worth the wait."

Draco thinks he's been waiting for this moment for far longer than three days. But where Harry's concerned, Draco's always felt a bit like Mercury circling the sun: close, but forever out of reach. He flip flops on whether to let Harry know, not wanting to scare him away until he finally makes his decision.

"Harry?" he says, staring up at the ceiling.

The only response he receives is Harry's soft snore.

**~*~**

There's a hint of light filtering in from the windows when Draco next wakes. It's not bright enough to make him feel like a layabout but it's enough to let him see that Harry's awake as well.

"Morning," Harry says, his eyes gentle yet assessing from beneath his long lashes.

"Morning." Draco rolls over until he's halfway on top of Harry, taking the sheets along with him. He kisses a trail along the stubble that shades Harry's jaw, then traces the stag tattoo adorning Harry's chest.

"Sorry," Harry says, half-laughing and half-groaning as his cock stirs to life, brushing against Draco's belly.

Draco salivates a little. Harry's cock truly is a work of beauty. 

"I could take care of that for you," Draco says, running his fingers lightly against the tip.

Harry's hips twitch in response. "Yeah?"

As much as Draco would love to have Harry return the favour and fuck Draco into the mattress, it's too early and they're both too exhausted to expend the energy needed to work Draco open. "Yeah," Draco says. He continues his way down Harry's body, licking the ridges of Harry's abs and tonguing the trail of hair that leads to Harry's groin before taking the head of Harry's cock in his mouth. 

It's been awhile and it's really too early for Draco to show off his skills to his best advantage, but Harry doesn't seem to mind as he lets out a pleased gasp. Harry's eyes grow half-lidded as he reaches for Draco's hand, their fingers interlacing as Harry's hips begin to thrust. Draco takes his time; it's sweet and unhurried, the sounds of licking and sucking punctuated by Harry's breathy moans, until Harry's grip tightens, his toes curling against the sheets right before he spills warm inside Draco's mouth.

Draco laps along the head and shaft of Harry's cock until it's clean. Then he crawls back up and falls into Harry's arms, drifting back to sleep as Harry murmurs something that's too soft to hear against his cheek.

**~*~**

When Draco wakes up a third time it's almost too late to be called morning. The bed is cold and empty and Harry's nowhere to be found.

**~*~**

Draco jumps as the door to his flat flies open with a bang. His knee hits the underside of the counter and his hand darts out in surprise, spilling his coffee all over the front page of the _Prophet._

"Harry?" he calls out, rubbing his leg.

"Nope. It's just me, your friendly neighbourhood fairy godfather." Vince waltzes in, looking surprisingly normal in a pair of trackies and an Adidas zip-up. "Good lord, what did you do to this place?"

Draco looks around at his kitchen. Or, what's left of it. "I had a bit of a morning." He shrugs.

"This reminds me of when you used to hex every breakable object in the Common Room whenever you got your knickers in a twist about…" Vince’s face falls, his eyes filling with sympathy. "Oh fuck. What happened?"

"You mean after I had what could possibly be the best sex of my life? Absolutely nothing."

Vince looks around at the broken pieces of dishware and napkins turned into confetti. "Uh… it doesn't look like 'nothing'."

"I meant 'nothing' as in 'it was like nothing ever happened'. Potter was gone when I woke up. No _'See you later',_ or _'Goodbye',_ or even a _'Fuck you',_ just… nothing." Draco glances over to the cabinet; there's still several mugs that have escaped his wrath. "Coffee?"

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I like mine with sugar and milk, not porcelain bits." Vince waves his wand, Vanishing the debris with surprising competency. It leaves the flat looking sad and empty.

"No more magical wishes," Draco says. He thinks it may have been worse this way, to taste something he can never have again. "It would have been nice if you warned me, though. If I had known ahead of time that it was a one-off and that everything was going to end so quickly."

Vince gives Draco a look that's surprisingly astute. "You know, these wishes. I told you that fairy godpersons aren't like genies. I mean, your deepest wish could've been to fuck Harry bleedin' Potter, but that seems more in keeping with the Draco I knew at fifteen.

"The kind of wishes fairy godpersons grant aren't exactly straightforward. Sometimes we'll give you a boost, give you things to help your deepest wish come true. After all, you don't really think that Cinderella wished for glass slippers and a pumpkin-carriage as her happily-ever-after, do you?"

"Oh." A flutter of hope develops inside Draco's chest. "Do you think… I mean, is there a chance that maybe Harry—?"

Vince shakes his head. "I'm not a mind-reader or a Diviner. It helps that I'm more attuned to you because of our past, but… Draco, only you truly know what your heart most desires."

Draco winces. "That's what I was afraid of."

**~*~**

By the time Monday rolls around, Draco almost wishes Vince never planted the seed of hope in his head. It's languished over the weekend, like a flower on a vine that's been burnt by a relentless sun. Because Draco hasn't heard one peep from Harry since the Wizarding Wonder's cowardly exit, not one.

"Listen, Malfoy, Potter's team needs this catalogued as well."

Draco stares at the file Adrian's thrown on the desk. "Why didn't he hand them to me himself?" Harry's always down here, badgering Draco with more work. Even if he were busy, he would've ordered one of his teammates to bring it to Draco directly.

Adrian shrugs, seemingly bored with the conversation. "Dunno. But it's better this way, right? You're always complaining that he's bothering you or messing up your desk. Anyway, if you can get it done by three, that'd be great. I told Potter I'd have it for him by the end of the day."

The file, filled with more salacious offerings from The Blushing Horklump, stares up at Draco accusingly. "Are you sure he didn't ask you to do this instead?" Draco wouldn't put it past Adrian to get away with doing as little work as possible.

Adrian points to the sticky note attached to the corner of the file. "Your name, your case, your file. Ergo, not mine. By the way, Potter looked absolutely aggro this morning, so if anything, I did you a favour."

Draco's heart sinks. Had Harry's declaration just been a product of Draco's fantasy? Did Harry regain his senses after Vince's spell wore off, leaving him embarrassed and angry? 

Draco picks his way through the remaining items on the docket—a tickler made from the feathers of a Jobberknoll, a Lust Potion that induces flatulence along with infatuation, and a flogger that's erroneously charmed to make ribbiting noises on impact are of particular note—but it takes him nearly twice as long to record everything as he proceeds in a daze, descriptions of body odours and animal noises notwithstanding.

"This is bloody ridiculous," Draco says, throwing down his quill. The tip skitters across the last page, turning _'anal beads'_ into _'anal beards'_ and that's the last straw.

He runs his hand through his hair. "I'm going to get some coffee," he calls out to Adrian as he makes his way to the door.

"Can you get me some—"

Draco pushes past Adrian's desk without looking back, not caring at all about the _'Rude!'_ comment that follows him out into the hall. Honestly, Adrian can stuff it, and Potter and Weasley, too. In fact, if Potter can't see how much better Draco is in his work ethic and intelligence and personality, he can just take one of those Selkie-inspired, double-headed dildos and shove it up his tight and perfect—

"What did you say?" Weasley bellows, his face nearly as red as his hair.

Draco stops short. _Of course_ Potter and Weasley are in the hallway as he’s unleashing his apparently not-exactly-internal diatribe, because that’s the kind of luck he’s wielded for the last several days. He feels his face drain of colour as he looks at an enraged Ron and then Harry, who's staring at Draco with his jaw clenched as a muscle twitches in his cheek.

"I…" Draco swallows; he's not certain how much either of them heard. 

"Is this your idea of a sick joke?" Ron asks. He takes a step forward, his hand reaching for his wand.

Draco doesn't want to appear the coward but he's had more than one experience being at the wrong end of the infamous Weasley temper.

"I… what?" Draco asks, his eyes darting from Ron to Harry as he takes a step back.

"Forget it, Ron," Harry says, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Ron looks Draco up and down like he just swallowed a handful of earwax-flavoured Bertie Botts. "I'll admit, you had us fooled. Thought you were turning over a new leaf, but you couldn't get past your pettiness and jealousy, could you?" He shrugs off Harry's grip, and for a moment, Draco is genuinely scared.

"I didn't… I didn't consciously wish for any of this to happen!" Draco cries out.

A mean smile twists Ron's handsome features. "So you didn't mean to take advantage of Harry and discard him the next day without another word?"

Harry looks miserable. "Ron, let's go—"

"What do you mean 'discard him'? Harry's the one who dumped me!"

Harry whips around. "What do you mean, I dumped _you?"_

The accusatory note in Harry's voice is the last straw. Draco doesn't care that he's standing in the middle of the Ministry's very crowded hallway as his frustration and humiliation comes pouring out.

"You left me!" Draco hisses. "I woke up to find that you were not only _not_ in my bed, but nowhere in my flat. I would've thought I imagined everything we did the night before except I still had the taste of you in my mouth!"

"Oooh boy," Ron says, and this time, his face takes on a pinkish tinge.

Harry looks absolutely gobsmacked. "What are you talking about? I left you a note!"

Draco retraces his steps from that morning. He remembers waking up and finding the bed too empty and cold, then making his way around his apartment as his heart sank with every step. He relives the humiliation of waiting for Harry in his dining room, every passing minute squashing the hope that perhaps Harry had run out getting breakfast for them both. Finally, he recalls destroying his kitchen in a pique of anger, shattering dishware and the appliances and scattering papers—

_Uh oh._

"There was no note," Draco says, in his haughtiest voice.

Harry scrubs his face. "There was! I left it in a place you had to find it, right next to your coffee maker!"

"The coffee maker? Why on earth—?"

"Because you _never_ start your morning without coffee! You always walk in with a blonde flat white from the shop on the corner unless it's a Monday, in which case you're running late and have to grab a cup from the cart in the lobby. Or if you're feeling particularly peeved, in which case you splurge and get one of those terribly sweet drinks with caramel and mocha." 

"A macchiato." Draco's jaw drops. "You know my coffee order?"

A faint blush steals across Harry's cheeks. "Well…"

Ron makes a gagging sound. "You oblivious lots deserve one another. Look Malfoy, for some reason or another, Harry likes you. A lot. Do us all a favour and put him out of his misery. And Harry, it looks like Malfoy likes you back. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think he'd actually make you happy, despite his questionable temper." He puts his hands up and backs away as Harry stares at Draco meaningfully. "I've done my good deed for the day. You two take it from here."

Draco watches as Ron continues down the hallway. "I don't get it, though," he says after Ron gets on the lift. "What did the note say? And why didn't you just tell me in person?"

Harry purses his lips and lets out a long sigh. "You looked so peaceful as you were sleeping. And we, erm, certainly didn't get a lot of sleep the night before. I didn't want to wake you." He scuffs the toe of his shoe along the floor. "I had an early meeting on Level 7 to discuss security for the Falcons-Arrows match. I left you a ticket; I had hoped we could watch the game together, then go to dinner after."

 _Oh bloody fuck._ That certainly would have been much more fun than sitting in front of the telly with a pint (or two) of Oppo's Caramel Chocolate Crunch.

Draco moves closer to Harry. "I may have done a bit of kitchen remodeling in my anger," he confesses, tracing a finger along Harry's sleeve. "I left it in shambles and Vince Vanished the evidence." He lifts his eyes, staring at Harry from beneath his lashes. "I'm sorry."

Harry gives Draco a crooked smile. "Me too."

"Sooo." Draco rubs his finger along the silken wools of Harry's robe. He's pleased to see Harry's eyes grow dark. "Is there anything I can do to convince you to give dinner another try? Say tonight, Hide, at 7:30?"

Harry appears to mull it over. "Does this offer include dessert?" he asks with a wicked grin.

Draco arches a brow. "Why Potter, whatever did you have in mind?"

Harry leans over to Draco. When he whispers into Draco's ear, the heat of his breath tickles Draco's skin and the words make Draco's toes curl. "I always wanted to try out item 47b. You'd look beautiful adorned with jewelry.”

Draco tries to remember what he wrote on the first day of his assignment. Somewhere in the ledger, between programmable cock rings at 47a and fur-lined breeding benches at 48 was—

Oh. _Oh._

Draco sends a silent thank you to Vince. Perhaps he can pay it forward as well.

He leans into Harry and grins.

"Potter, your wish is my command."

**~* **❤️** *~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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